by Eric Flint
He’d been ordered to begin his new duty the following day.
Still more humiliations had followed this morning. After he put on his janissary uniform—a new one had been provided for him, since the one he’d been wearing during the assault on Vienna had been ruined—he presented himself to his new commanding officer. This was a young mülâzım named Hasan bin Evhad, who had no doubt been placed in the military police because he was not capable of any greater assignment.
To his surprise—not to mention outrage—Hussein had been provided with neither a musket nor a yataghan, which were the proper weapons for a janissary. Instead, the mülâzım had handed him nothing but a dagger and a club.
Seeing the expression on Hussein’s face, the mülâzım shook his head. “Don’t snarl at me. The sultan ordered that no soldier maintaining order in Beç”—that was the usual Turkish name for Vienna—“is to carry any other weapons.”
“What if there’s trouble?” Hussein demanded.
Hasan bin Evhad sneered. “Trouble with who? The only Austrian soldiers left are in shackles. There aren’t more than a few thousand civilians still in the city and they certainly won’t be a problem.”
“You can’t say that. Our own men will be fighting over the women, if nothing else.”
The mülâzım’s lip curled still further. “What women? There were only a few dozen when we took the city. All of them were whores for the Austrian soldiers and now they’re whores for us. If you want a woman, go to the brothels and pay one. Nobody fights over them. Why bother? The price is cheap—even cheap enough for men with no loot.”
“No loot?”
Seeing the confusion in Hussein’s face, the mülâzım’s look of derision was replaced by a friendly grin.
“You didn’t know? The sultan forbade all looting when we took the city. He had the order enforced, too—men were impaled, not just hung, if they were caught breaking the order.”
Hussein stared at him. That was a gross violation of Ottoman custom. The sultan’s soldiers—certainly the janissaries!—were traditionally given three days after taking a city in which they could plunder whatever they could get their hands on, as long as it was movable. That included the city’s women. The officers would usually even overlook violations of the Muslim prohibition against alcoholic drink.
But… Murad IV could have managed it, Hussein realized. Already he’d heard other wounded soldiers calling him “Murad the Magnificent.” And why not? Their young sultan had succeeded where even Suleiman had failed.
“Why?” he asked.
Hasan bin Evhad shrugged. “Our sultan thinks in big terms. He said he wanted the Austrians as willing subjects, because there was no other way to build the empire he plans to build.”
Hussein understood the reasoning, well enough. It was not even especially exotic. Ottoman tradition toward most of their subjects, in the Balkans as much as in Anatolia and Mesopotamia, was to rule with a light hand so long as the conquered peoples refrained from rebellion.
But that came after the conquest, not right in the middle of it!
Hasan bin Evhad shook his head again. “Best you get used to it, Hussein. Now take your club and dagger and go out there and maintain order.”
* * *
It took Hussein perhaps a hour to get over his surprise and subdued indignation. But once he did…
Ha! He hadn’t missed out on the loot, after all!
Served all those other bastards right. The ones who hadn’t been badly wounded in the sultan’s service.
He adjusted his eyepatch to a jaunty angle and strode down the thoroughfares like a conqueror.
Steyregg, on the north bank of the Danube across from Linz
At that same moment, the katyusha gunner Stefan Branković was experiencing ambivalence of his own. That was produced by the unexpected destruction of several airships and the withdrawal from the field of the vessels laying down smoke. On the one hand, he was pleased that they wouldn’t have to fumble their way forward half-blinded by smoke. On the other, the enemy forces who’d be shooting at them as they advanced wouldn’t be blinded either.
He tried to resolve his uncertainty by reminding himself that it really didn’t matter what he thought. What mattered was what Murad thought because, whether Stefan or anyone liked it or not, they would be obeying him. The sultan was a fair ruler, but “fairness” simply spoke to the man’s even-handedness, not to how heavily the hand came down.
The clash of cymbals announced the advance. “May God watch over me…” he murmured, setting his team of horses into a trot. He would have preferred to canter or even gallop, but they still had far to go.
* * *
For the purposes of this battle today, the Third Division’s artillery batteries had been re-organized under a single command instead of being left to the various regiments they were attached to. Jeff Higgins had some doubts about the wisdom of that decision, but it did have one definite advantage—he wouldn’t have to be the guy trying to figure out how soon to order the big guns to fire. All he had to think about was how soon to tell his infantrymen to start firing their rifles.
Not any time soon, he figured. Unless the Turks coming forward with their rocket wagons were deaf, dumb and blind or really stupid—or had a commander who was—they’d stop their advance while they were still well out of range of the SRGs. It’d be rockets against twelve-pounders, for a while, with the infantry just there as observers.
Hopefully, observers. Some of them would probably get turned into corpses, though.
* * *
In his own command bunker, positioned a hundred yards behind Jeff’s and closer to the river, Mike Stearns was studying the same oncoming rocket wagons. He was using binoculars, though, because of the greater distance.
So far, the battle was going well, he thought. The critical thing was that the Magdeburg had succeeded in breaking the assault of the Ottoman airships. Only two of the airships had broken through and dropped their bombs, and neither had been able to do a lot of damage.
The bombs dropped by one of the airships had missed the trenches and bunkers completely, because they’d been dropped too soon. The leading airship had done better, with most of its incendiaries either hitting the Third Division’s fieldworks or at least coming close. The fieldworks had been thrown up hastily in the short time the Third Division had had at its disposal after it arrived in Linz. They been primarily designed to handle firebombs, at least up to a point. The dirt-covered log roofs over the bunkers hadn’t been penetrated by the incendiaries, and while a really large number of bombs being dropped would undoubtedly spill flames into the works, the few bombs that one airship was able to drop just weren’t enough.
One bunker had been seriously threatened, but the men in it had been able to escape using the trenches that connected all the bunkers. They’d only lost two men killed and four injured.
It remained to be seen, of course, how well those same bunker roofs would stand up to rocket fire.
Vienna, former capital of Austria-Hungary, now occupied by the Ottoman Empire
Hussein heard the altercation before he turned the corner—long before he turned it. He first heard the woman’s screeching while he was still a block away.
He didn’t hurry his steps, though. First, because the only women who’d be in Beç these days would be Christians, and he didn’t care very much what happened to infidels. Secondly, because the screeching had a tone of fury rather than fear. Whatever was happening around the corner didn’t sound like it was an immediate crisis.
When he did round the corner, he came to an abrupt halt. That was not due to the sight in front of him so much as it was the stench. Unfortunately, the wind was blowing toward him and that hideous crone stank.
Stank of shit, to be precise, which wasn’t surprising given the cart she’d been hauling behind her. A night soil worker, who’d been going about her filthy trade when the two Ottoman soldiers accosted her.
But why had they accosted her in the f
irst place? She’d have nothing to steal so their only interest in her would be carnal. But who in their right mind would want to have anything to do with this creature?
Neither the woman nor the two soldiers had noticed him yet. So Hussein had a bit of time to study the scene more closely.
Several things became apparent. First, both soldiers were drunk and at least one of them was a Christian—he had a crucifix hanging from his neck. They were probably both Christians, then. Add inebriation to their inherent dull-wittedness and you had at least part of the explanation for their interest in the woman. Zimmis—Christians, especially—would fuck sheep, goats, dogs, almost anything.
The rest of the explanation came from the woman. When Hussein had first seen her, he’d taken her to be a crone because of the missing eye and teeth, and the straggly hair. But now he could see that she was not very old. It was hard to tell, because of the shapeless and filthy garments she was wearing, but he thought she might even have a full figure.
Not that he’d be interested her, even if she did. She was still a disgusting wretch.
The woman screeched again; something in German, he thought. He wasn’t sure, because he didn’t speak the language at all. One of the Christian soldiers made a jibe in response, and that was in Serbian which he did understand somewhat.
That same soldier made a lunging gesture toward the woman, as if to grab her. It was half in jest—but only half.
For her part, the woman leaned away, but she didn’t run. From the way she had her right hand tucked into her garments, Hussein suspected she had a weapon in there. Some sort of cheap dagger, undoubtedly.
It was illegal for civilians in Beç to own or carry weapons, of course. That had been the very first ruling made by the sultan. But Hussein hadn’t actually seen anything and he was not inclined to search her to find out.
Nor was there any need to. This was a minor incident, more of a nuisance than anything else.
He strode forward, immediately drawing the attention of the trio. “Go,” he commanded the two soldiers.
They stared at him. One, with a slack jaw; the other—the one who’d tried to grab the woman—with what seemed to be a smirk.
He said something, which he clearly found very amusing. Hussein didn’t understand several of the words, but he thought what the Christian bastard had said was: look, another one-eye; maybe they’re mates.
He wasn’t in that good a mood. His club swept up, around and across and the would-be wit found himself on the ground with a bloody nose. It might be broken.
Not that Hussein cared. “Go!” he repeated. The still-standing soldier helped his mate to his feet and the two of them stumbled off.
He turned to the woman. Since he didn’t know what the German terms for “go” or “leave” might be, he just waved his hand peremptorily. The meaning of the silent gesture would be clear enough.
Quickly—yes, she was young; no crone would move like that—the woman picked up the handles of the night soil cart and moved away. He made sure to stay well clear of her and was relieved when she was no longer upwind.
He watched her for a block until she rounded a corner. She was headed in the general direction of the palace, which he thought a bit odd.
But a bit odd wasn’t odd enough for him to want to get near her again. Perhaps her circuit including buildings in that direction.
No concern of his, any longer. He resumed his patrol.
Steyregg, on the north bank of the Danube across from Linz
The cymbals clashed again. Stefan made to touch the slowmatch to the fuse.
But the commanders had waited too long, after the katyushas had gotten into position. The line of enemy berms in the distance suddenly erupted in noise, flame and smoke.
Stefan did fire his eight rockets, though, before the twelve-pound ball cut him in half.
* * *
For the most part, the bunkers held up well. The katyusha rockets were much better suited for anti-personnel use than against fortifications, even fieldworks. Only one roof collapsed under the barrage. But it took long enough to come down that, again, most of the men were able to escape through the trenches.
The Third Division’s guns did a great deal more harm to the enemy’s wagons. Gustav Adolf’s armies had always been good with artillery, and the Third Division was no exception.
* * *
Had he seen, the USE’s emperor would have been pleased. But Gustav Adolf had suffered a seizure just before the gunnery duel began—his first since arriving in Vienna.
He wouldn’t have been able to see much, though, even with his binoculars. Since no one had wanted him to take the risk of being north of the Danube when the battle started, he’d remained in position in his own bunker close to the naval rifles on the spit of land formed by the river confluence.
Janos Drugeth was with him when the emperor suffered the seizure. It would have been quite unnerving except for the presence of the American Moorish doctor. Nichols went about the business of tending to the emperor calmly, efficiently—almost matter-of-factly.
Reassured by the doctor’s obvious confidence in the outcome, Janos left the bunker and took a position close to the naval rifles’ berm—almost atop it, actually—which gave him the best view of the battlefield across the Danube.
The allies had gotten the best of the first two encounters, but Janos didn’t think the battle was over. Murad was nothing if not aggressive. Janos was sure that he’d try a mass cavalry charge next. The sipahis would suffer heavy casualties, yes—but there were so many of them.
In the distance, he heard the booms of kettledrums—called kös by the Ottomans, followed by the clarion call of a boru. The sound produced by the Turkish version of a trumpet carried clearly across the river.
Within seconds, all other sounds were drowned beneath the thunder of hooves. Thousands of horses—no, tens of thousands of horses—were coming onto the battlefield. The greatest cavalry charge in living memory was about to begin.
In living memory? Possibly in the memory of any man since Emperor Darius sent his Immortals and Scythians against Alexander the Great at Gaugamela.
Chapter 58
Steyregg, on the north bank of the Danube across from Linz
As the equivalent of a regimental commander, Lt. Colonel Thorsten Engler had attended all of General Stearns’ staff briefings, including the one where the Hungarian Janos Drugeth had presented the top officers of the Third Division with his best estimates concerning the forces they’d face when Sultan Murad’s army reached Linz.
Janissaries: These were the Ottoman Empire’s elite infantry, and they would number between twenty and twenty-five thousand strong. Interestingly, Drugeth had learned that Murad hadn’t brought all the janissary units which usually went on campaign, bringing some of the sekban bölüks that usually stayed in Constantinople as a sort of home guard instead. Murad seemed to have been selective of the units; some had been heavily involved in the disturbances of 1632 and, before that, in the death of Sultan Osman. Those left behind had, for the most part, been less involved.
Sipahis: The traditional Turkish cavalry. At least thirty thousand, possibly forty thousand. About two-thirds of them were the provincial sipahis, essentially feudal levies, whose quality would range from excellent to abysmal. But he had also brought the bulk of the alti bölük, the six standing cavalry units. Their quality was uniformly excellent. And again, interestingly, the sipahis of the alti bölük had been involved in the disturbances of 1632, if anything to a greater extent than the janissaries.
Topçu Ocağı. The artillery corps, in which was included the new katyusha rocket wagon units. They would number perhaps ten thousand, whichwas a huge increase from the days of traditional artillery. Many of the new units were manned by zimmis— nonMuslims—mostly Orthodox Christians from the Balkans. Drugeth had expressed the hope that there would be some friction between the traditional artillery and the new units that would hurt their efficiency.
Akıncı.“In ti
mes past,” Drugeth had told them. “the units that were called akinci were irregular units, mostly light cavalry. They were raised from the border areas of the empire, where they usually had experience as raiders. They were not given regular pay and they served entirely for plunder.
“What’s interesting is that the akinci were disbanded by Grand Vezir Koca Sinan Paşa and absorbed into the timariot cavalry over forty years ago. Murad revived the name, which means ‘raiders’ and which has a sort of romance associated with it, just two years ago for a new corps in the regular army. They’re made up entirely of Muslims and are now mostly infantry.
He’d gone on to explain that Murad had been careful to give the impression that they were intended as nothing more than temporary units, even following the tradition of assigning selected janissaries to command some of the bölüks—call them companies—that made up the new force. After all, one of the reasons that Osman was dethroned and executed was that the janissaries feared he was going to supplant them. But many of the companies were commanded by officers not taken from the janissaries but from groups like the bostanjis who were loyal in 1632. And they had been expanded quietly until they numbered perhaps twenty thousand, almost as many as the janissaries.
“The janissaries are jealous of them and insist that they retain their status as the empire’s elite infantry—a proposition that Murad seems to accept, judging by his readiness to allow them the honor of serving as his shock troops. Which means, of course, that they’re suffering heavy casualties. I think he may be planning to wear them down and eventually supplant them, at least to an extent, with the new akinci.”
Cebeci. “This is also very interesting,” Drugeth had said. “Traditionally, the cebeci were what you might call technicians more than combat soldiers, being responsible for maintaining and keeping the empire’s weapons and transporting them to wherever they were needed. Murad has expanded them drastically and placed them in charge of developing new weapons as well as maintaining the existing ones.”